Month: September 2015

Some memories are happy; some memories are sad. Some are good and some are bad. When it comes to memories of our canine friends all of these remembrances are tossed into one wonderful bundle of fur. Memories are why I love to paint my friends dogs; especially the happy memory it creates for me, knowing the person smiled when they viewed my “interpretation” of their furry friend. Over the last few months I have painted 12 pooch portraits which I am sharing with you today. Please take a moment and VOTE for your favorite. Scroll down to see all 12. How to choose? Maybe one makes you smile, perhaps you like the colors I used or maybe there is a resemblance to a doggie friend …….just make a choice. The winner will be featured on a greeting card which will raise funds for animal shelters in three states. Texas, Montana and Florida. How to vote? Two ways: Leave a comment here on the blog site or email sweeneyartcenter2@yahoo.com and type in the name printed below …

Today I offer you a painting that was inspired by a memory that my husband shared with me about his family dog. Dusty was a golden retriever with a very big heart that reached out to not only the family but beyond. When the neighbor’s cat had kittens she would always leave them unattended and crying. One day Dusty went over to the neighbor’s back yard and cuddled the kittens. They clung to him and he nuzzled and licked them like they were his own. When the roaming mother cat came back and saw this she hired Dusty right on the spot. Every litter there after she would run over and meow at Dusty who would dutifully babysit her brood . You can see why I call this painting “The Baby Sitter”.

My mother passed away when I was eleven leaving her grieving family to raise a 5 year old boy. It was a collective effort but when I remember back it seems I was the “motherly” one. However, not sure about that, because knowing that Dad would never, ever go to a Cub Scout meeting; I too, wouldn’t consider interrupting my girlie life for such a thing. But I do remember one very touching day when my brother, then 10 years old, was walking home from school and spotted a cat sitting in the middle of Hiway 72, which ran through our little Montana town. He brought the kitten into our house and excitedly said “She was asleep on the Hiway. I could barely see her – she looks just like the pavement! Can we keep her? She could have been hit by a car.” It was my assignment to talk to Dad for permission and winning that battle made me somewhat of a hero in my brother’s eyes. We named her Amy. She was a …